The Confessions of Outsiders
by Amnesie
Summary: One shots, 1. IzzieAlex. 2. GeorgeCallie 3. MerDer 4. Addison and her men. 5. Burke and Christina
1. An Innocuous Lunch

_Author's Note: I am foreseeing this being a series of oneshots, not necessarily about the same characters every time (though I do seem to focus on them), but following the same theme with each continuation. Much appreciation for those that read-- and all my love to those who review :)_

* * *

It could be perfectly innocent. People have lunch together everyday without being romantically involved.

But they seemed different. Maybe it was the way he grinned at her, obviously softening some saucy remark he'd have to have made. Maybe it was the way she laughed along with him, noticeably charmed and receptive. Why shouldn't they get along? They were interns and they'd gone through a lot together. They were bonded forever simply because of their experiences: their heartbreaking tragedies, their foolish amusements, the lessons which they had roughly learned… together.

So what if they had that camaraderie? It didn't mean they were smitten with each other. Except for the fact that they previously had been. He'd once looked at her as if it was possible that she could save the world… him included. She'd watched him with a direct tenderness that saw right through his tough veneer and foresaw the compassion of which he was capable. But that didn't prove that those thoughts still existed; except that they probably did. At least in some small fragments deeply imbedded within, reinforced by the way they supported each other.

He'd followed her out of the hospital when she was desperately trying to keep from breaking down and to carry her head held high. He'd told the chief that he was a part of the team; part of her team. And though he'd lost her to himself and to Denny, he always would be. She'd seen something decent in him and that one little fact had meant the world to him. She'd helped him study for his boards when he hadn't deserved her encouragement. They were connected.

And to outsiders looking in, it was obvious. Merely eating lunch together in the hospital courtyard, they looked as if they were together. Maybe they were; Maybe they'd found their way back to one another in that way. Maybe not. Nevertheless, their bond was strong and insurmountable-- and would remain so.

But that didn't mean that others would stay away. His mischievous smirk and soft gaze and her wide grin and flushed cheeks were too fascinating, too appealing. Their common sensitivity and determination were a lure. Even their connection, that undefeatable bond, was an attraction, because it meant they were able to feel, and sustain, something real.

It gave those that watched them hope that maybe one day they'd share something just as powerful with them. That maybe one day she'd see through a different bitter man with such sympathetic eyes; that he'd have room in his heart for another strong, dejected woman.

Across the courtyard one of those wishful pairs commiserated their circumstances as outsiders looking in.

"We're pitiful," she moaned.

"We're desperate," he spat out disgusted at himself.

"They're vexing; They cause only trouble for normal, rational people. I swear, Mark, they must be cursed."

"No, Addie, we are."

* * *

The problem with being outsiders looking in is being denied the truth. It's not knowing whether another person feels for you what you do for them. It's a game of assumptions; a game where the outsiders are pawns and never know if they're being played. They never really win, they sustain only their existence, unless someone chooses to let them in. And that can prove to be the hardest move of all. 


	2. Her Best Friend

What was it that he saw in her that made him lose his head?

Marrying her would have been a laughable suggestion, but it was an even more ludicrous act. He never did anything impetuous. He was George. He was gentle, endearing, and steadfast. He was the intern most likely to lend a caring hand or to be someone's shoulder to cry on. He was the stable force the held everyone together when obstacles came from every other direction to tear them apart.

He was her best friend. And though he may not see his marriage to Callie as a mistake, she did. He'd been through a lot of grief lately, and pain made people do irrational things; she knew better than anyone. He'd been there for her when she was in an emotional drained disarray on the bathroom floor and when she'd sat motionless on the couch, holding the check her deceased love had bequeathed her, feeling bogged down by the weight of the world. He'd been there for her and she was determined to be there for him.

His father had died and that had devastated him. He wasn't ready for it; who really ever is? It was one of those moments that people go through in life that forever change who they are. He'd never been the same since. He had been devastated and he hadn't even turned to her. He'd turned to Callie. What was it about her that made her the one?

She swore she'd never understand their relationship. Never. Callie was peculiar. She was a misfit. She went to the bathroom in front of other women whom she barely knew. She lived in the hospital basement. She had sex with Mark Sloan. Mark Sloan! A man who, although he worshipped female bodies, had never respected a woman in his life. What kind of woman could she be?

She was a bad influence. Even if she truly loved George, she should have known how much pain he was in. She should have realized that he was acting irrationally and tried to help him. Instead, she'd taken advantage of him and his temporary insanity and went along with his foolish marriage plans. It was premature. It was just too quick!

She'd never understand their relationship. They could pretend that they were supposed to be together, but it wasn't true. Their relationship wasn't fated or inevitable; it was spontaneous and contrived. It was born out of his grief over his father and he was just using her to help him overcome his sorrow. If she loved him, she would have seen that. And she definitely would not be trying to come between him and his friends.

George was not the same person he had been before her. Did he laugh anymore? Did he smile?

She couldn't be sure. He didn't even talk to her.

Entering the intern's locker room, she stopped close to his locker and watched as he shoved his belongings into his bag.

"Hey George, we're going to the bar in a few minutes. Want to come with us?"

She tried to sound as cheery as she could, but it was to no avail.

He didn't say a word.

"Don't let her do this to us, George. She's pulling us apart!"

When he met her eyes, his glare was cold and piercing. He slammed the door of his locker shut and strode right past her, not even bothering to look behind.

She swore she'd never comprehend what he saw in her, what is was between them that made him pull away. He was no longer her George; he was Callie's husband.

* * *

When we try to decipher the feelings of others, we are quick to focus too much on our own instead. There are some things that we are not privy to, nor should we be. Some emotions are too powerful to be shared.

Yet when we try to understand the actions of others, we often overlook our own. And it is in this misstep that rifts are caused and hearts are broken and ultimately, we destroy our own good fortunes.


	3. Hindsight

When was it that he had lost control? His people were utterly unmanageable. Most doctors have a large degree of self-confidence, some bordering on arrogance or apathy towards others, but his went well above that. They were impetuous and hotheaded, absorbed in their own bleak, forever problematic lives. But, admittedly, apathetic they were not, as they were embroiled in every case that was sent their way. Unbelievable as it may be, they were too involved-- with their patients and with each other.

And it had all started with those two.

Standing outside of his office, he looked across his branch of the hospital to watch them. She was leaning against a counter, feigning interest in a chart, but he knew she was enjoying the neurosurgeon's flirtations based on the slight pink hue emerging on her cheeks. Her colleague was bent towards her, lowly murmuring who-knows-what into her ear. Every once in a while he would flash her his smile and she would emit a merry laugh.

He really should be angry with them. Their love affair was not professional. He was her superior; their relationship was improper. And to make matters worse, they had set a precedent for such affairs in his hospital. Before they had shown up, bringing with them their tortured histories of neglect, depression and despair- and in his case a complicated, deteriorating secret marriage, the hospital had seemed relatively well managed. There were, of course, random dalliances that had remained casual in nature and were- thankfully- forgettable. Back then, he had been in control and the patients were the chief source of drama, not the doctors themselves. But that was then. Now he felt out of powerless; the only control to be had was possessed by the unbridled wave of hormone and emotion that had bewitched his staff.

He really should be angry with them, but he couldn't. Because at his core, he was envious. Not jealous, because he certainly did not want any of them, but envious, because of a woman whom he had once known.

Still watching the pair as they conversed, their interactions filled with affection and delight, he exhaled deeply. There had been a time when he had been in their shoes. He'd loved a colleague and had wanted nothing more than to choose her, to capture her and pull her way from reality, but their moment had never come. He'd yearned to run his hand through her hair as Shepherd was doing to her daughter now. He'd lain in bed, wide awake, plagued by the desire to claim her as his own and the sheer anguish at knowing he could not. It wasn't their destiny. It hadn't been right. As much as he had longed for it, they had never had that lighthearted, passionate romance that Shepherd and Grey, despite all their so-called problems, had. She'd been too entranced with her work, and truthfully, he in his. She had been a strong, independent woman who ultimately stopped for no one, not even him. Theirs had been a everlasting, reverential love, but it had also been a tortured one- a relationship which they could never wholeheartedly commit to.

He _wanted _to be angry with them, to abhor them for experiencing a genuine version of the timeless love that he had never quite had and for being able to maintain it in the hospital, heedless of what others thought. They weren't concerned that they were risking their reputations and employment; they'd found something they deemed worth the sacrifice: each other.

He wanted to be angry with them, but all he felt was proud.

And it cemented his decision that Derek Shepherd would not follow in his footsteps, would not succeed him as chief. The man had too much to lose.

* * *

The painful truth about life is that it's impossible to know every happiness and to escape every sorrow. It's a guessing game. Will your dreams be fulfilled? Your love be requited? Or will you one day look at what another possesses and think 'that should have been mine?' Only time will tell. 


	4. The Spider's Web

He could be cocky and impulsive. He could be a mean bastard. He'd slept with lots of women, most of which he shouldn't have, at least according to common moral decency. He'd done the one night stands in bar restrooms and quick affairs with women who meant nothing to him. He was a man's man. A wrestler who could thrash the fiercest of competitors and a fighter who could strike ruthlessly with vengeance. His masculinity was never in question… except when _she_ was around. Just looking at her made him feel like the insecure small town boy he really was.

She was the living embodiment of sophistication. Between her stylish heels and the extravagant wardrobe which must cost more than he made in a year, she exuded class and grace. But it wasn't just her attire, it was her. Her presence radiated with charisma. She was self-reliant and erudite and rich with character and humanity. She was the woman whom everyone wanted, but not just anyone could have. She wasn't for the ordinary or weak. She was the trove of wealth that only a few extraordinary men could posses.

Shepherd had been the luckiest man alive, in his consideration, but the neurosurgeon had taken that for granted. It had been hard watching them interact together, with gaiety and intimate exchanges, sharing an insurmountable mountain of history between them; history that could never be erased. But his fragile heart didn't plummet to the ground, didn't shatter to millions of tiny little fragments, when he saw her interacting with Shepherd. Everyone knew that he was in love with Meredith and that she, for better or worse, had moved on. No, it was watching her with Sloan that made his insides quiver with revulsion.

If he had to, he could understand the man's appeal. The girls conversed about it enough that he knew exactly why women went for Mark Sloan. But he wasn't a man that they stayed with. Sloan was the charmer who showed women what they had been missing their entire lives and then discarded them like a newspaper that wasn't current anymore, used and useless. He was good for one time only and never more.

Except for her. She was drawn to Sloan in ways that no one else would understand. He had been fortunate enough to have her, but he'd treated her inconsiderately. He had broken her further at a time when she had thought herself already unfixable. He'd shown no regard for any of the essential parts of her character, but only excessive esteem for her physique. And yet she was drawn to him, an indefinable magnetism full of sexual tension and basic human connection luring her closer into the spider's web.

He possessed something she needed, some strength to compensate for one of her weaknesses. Maybe it was his overabundance of self-worth she required, to use to overpower her tender vulnerability. Maybe he retained some elusive, intangible quality that she deemed necessary to satisfy an insatiable craving.

Or maybe, just maybe, she was simply empty, a hollow shell of a once dynamic person, desperately searching for fulfillment, for that one spark that would ignite her vivacity and her potency and her blazing inner light.

If that was the case, despite being an insecure, boyish intern in her presence, he wouldn't give up hope. Because one day, she might turn his way and he had the distinct feeling that he, coarse and unsophisticated, held the key to her answers.

* * *

The unattainable-- it's both sought after and abandoned. To those that already have it, it's unremarkable. To those seeking it, priceless. Some are enticed by the challenge, while others yield to the difficulty of attaining it. The journey can be one of true exertion, of sweat and labor and tears, or one of emotion, of patience and devotion. Whatever its means, success is a testament of the passion and dedication of the victor; a true judge of one's strength of character. As life often shows us, only the strong will thrive. 


	5. His Person

He didn't think he'd ever understand her. It was both an appalling and frustrating thought. She was his fiancée…his soon to be wife.

He'd readily admit that she confused him. At first it had been intriguing, a sort of intangible attractor drawing him in to her. He was a pragmatic guy. His life was orderly and routine. He'd worked hard to achieve the position he enjoyed. He had never realized that anything was missing, until he'd discovered her and the bottom of his life had dropped out from beneath him.

She perplexed him… obscured his life and blurred his perspective. She'd driven him off course simply be being her- by being an unknown he'd had to know.

She wasn't conventional. She was more like a byzantine enigma that didn't want to be solved. She was quiet when other women were talkative. She didn't let herself rejoice in comfort or affection. She appeared to want none of either. She was logical and practical, exemplifying the characteristics that doctors were known for, but had trouble expressing her emotions, showing empathy, letting other people in. Letting him in.

He may have enjoyed the mystery initially, but it's a sign that something's amiss when you're an outsider to your own fiancée.

She was commitment phobic. He'd had to push her at every step of their relationship to open up to him. But now they were engaged and she should be as comfortable with him as he was with her. She should be able to let go and have trust in him. She should be able to share her thoughts and feelings openly… with him.

Not only with Meredith.

Their relationship boggled his mind. They were best friends, okay. But Meredith was the only person that Christina would share things with. She was the only person to know about the pregnancy; the person she ran to when anything important happened, or when she needed someone's opinion.

It should be him. Had they ever been bound together by anything other than their love? By anything that they actually chose to share together? True, they'd hidden the fact that his hand wasn't fully healed, but they'd decided that had needed to be done. It wasn't some secret they could share, an inside joke to delight in together.

No, Meredith was her person for anything like that. She had to tell Meredith that they were engaged before anyone else could know. Hell, if he hadn't been the one to ask, he assumed that Meredith would have known before he did. It wasn't right. He was the fiancé.

He exhaled loudly and looked around the hospital corridor for her, knowing she'd be hastening out of the building soon as her shift had ended. He was right.

She approached him with a soft smile and its presence on her face warmed his heart.

"Hey. My surgery shouldn't take long so I'll be home in about an hour."

She looked up at him expectantly. "Need an intern?"

He wanted to laugh at her predictability. "O'Malley's scrubbing in."

"Okay."

After a pause, she said "Well, I better get going. I might be a little late. I promised Mer I'd go to Joe's with her. Don't wait up."

He watched her walk away with a heavy heart. Second again to her friendship with Meredith. It had turned into a painful routine. An unacceptable one; one he didn't understand.

Meredith may have been her person, but _she_ was his.

* * *

It's difficult when we want from others that which they don't want to give… or feel that they cannot. Perhaps they simply aren't capable of it, but perhaps they are. There's always the possibility that we may never have what we deeply desire, that it isn't possible to achieve or win over. In the face of that prospect, we must decide whether we want to take the risk and hope that what we have attained is enough or to simply… walk away. 


End file.
